Remember
by Disgrayceful Ways
Summary: The Joker had never wanted to save Harley before, but now was different.


_I hang my coat up in the first bar  
>There is no peace that I've found so far<br>The laughter penetrates my silence  
>As drunken men find flaws in science<br>-Snow Patrol (Set Fir to the Third Bar)_

All she could remember were the colors purple and red. Mostly red on purple, really. Her previous life was nothing to her but a feeling of emotions. She was missing something, that much she knew but her doctors swore that she had just been a regular woman living a normal life...

So why did she feel so...not normal? She felt empty, cold, alone. Something was tearing through her soul, trying to tell her what was wrong. The desperation she felt was painful and at night she would curl in her hospital bed, crying, asking herself questions stacked upon questions.

Just _who_ was she?

In her dreams she could hear laughter. Mind-numbing, dizzying, shrieking laughter. She wanted to laugh too, but all that laughter did was make her cry. When she'd awake, she'd try her best to go back to sleep, that laughter being all that was holding her together—or tearing her apart.

The doctors had finally released her, one escorting her to her supposed home. "Here you go, Miss Hillary Quinten." The name didn't sound right, but she said nothing and just nodded her thanks. She walked into the small apartment she had been presented and her face screwed up in distaste.

It was all so plain, all black and white and wood and just not right. She couldn't place her finger on it, though. Anger swirled within her chest, seeded and brewing. Exploring her place was all that was left. Everything was so cut and dry. Her pictures seemed so lonely and she only recognized a few people in them as the doctors who had treated her. Smiles in every one of those pictures, happy-go-lucky atmosphere in all of them...but she looked positively miserable. She could see it in her own blue eyes.

Having enough of being disappointed by the lack of life in her apartment, she had decided to go to sleep. She headed to the stark white bathroom adjoined to her bedroom so that she could wash her face. As soon as she was done, she stared at the stranger in front of her in the mirror. Blonde, blue eyed, plump pastel pink lips, and confused.

"Hillary Quinten..."

The name left a bad taste in her mouth and she frowned. She tried once more but it only served to upset her further and soon she was screaming her name at the mirror, but the angry image that stared back only repeated her. Furiously she began to punch the mirror, having it crack under her tiny fists, cuts taking up residence on her knuckles. Soon she was too tired to keep it up and sank to the floor crying and she fell asleep curled up in a little ball, the last thing within her mind had been a glimpse of purple.

He was furious, more furious than he had ever been. He didn't know what had happened, but Harley was taken right from under his nose by that blasted man who paraded in a bat costume. He had tried his best at the time to rescue her, but the Bat had already managed to get away, Harley unconscious and hanging limply over his shoulder.

That was the last time he had seen her and it was like she had disappeared into thin air. She had been gone for months and his soul, not that he'd ever admit to having one, cried out for her. He'd lay in their bed at night, wide awake and unable to sleep without her small body glued to him annoyingly despite the summer heat.

The times he did manage to fall into slumber, his was plagued by dreams of her curvy form in that beautiful black and red jester costume. She would smile at him and whisper seductively in his ear, "Mistah Jay..." But then she'd pull away, a look of horror crossing her features and she'd be yanked away by a black form and those whispered words would become screams, as her gloved hand reached out for his and he'd run, trying to get to her, begging please, Harley, stay!

He'd wake up then, heart racing, sweat pouring from his brow as he tried to regain his breath. He would then begin searching for her with a revived determination, only for his searches to come up fruitless once again. He had every man possible at his disposal, searching for his long lost Jester Queen. But it was to no avail.

It wasn't until he had been in an alley way, waiting for an informant that he saw her walking by with some man. Anger struck inside him like a match as he decided that it would be best to follow the pair and not let his presence be known until he could be alone to teach Harley a lesson for not coming back as soon as she had the chance.

It was apparent, though, that after a few minutes of following her, that she had perhaps not had a chance open to escape yet. Soon, though, the pair in front of him had stopped in front of a door. The man handed Harley a key and spoke, ""Here you go, Miss Hillary Quinten."

The Joker nearly dropped dead on the spot. "Hillary Quinten? What kind of prank is this?" He hissed under his breath, unwilling to approach just yet. When the man turned to walk off as Harley entered the apartment, it became clear that he was a doctor. The Clown Prince bristled under the new knowledge and as soon as the good doctor passed by, he pulled him into an alley way to get some answers.

A few hours later, the Joker emerged. The doctor had long been disposed of after giving him a few bits of information that he needed. Those blasted scientists at Arkham had destroyed his Harley. Had given her a fake life and a fake name and had wiped her memory some how! Now he felt like he needed to save her more than ever before. He felt like he needed to fix her, bring her back to her true form.

With that, he managed to break into the apartment silently. He wrinkled his face in disgust, making his already scarred features seem more hideous. The place was a drab and so opposite of Harley that he wanted to vomit. It was then he heard her voice in a further part of the home she now had, "Hillary Quinten." He crept towards the sound, hearing her repeat the name over and over and each time her voice rose in hysteria. She was becoming upset, he could hear her tears and eventually he heard her screaming of her new name, a shattering of glass and then a calm.

He was in front of the door soon after, gazing upon her sobbing figure. She didn't notice him as she fell asleep. She was a pitiful sight and his throat constricted. He had seen her bloody and broken before, even by his own hands, but this was different. She was insanity being trapped, she wasn't her, she was being forced to be someone she wasn't and she somehow knew it but had no idea what to do with herself.

He picked her up gently and brought her to the crisp, new bed of the apartment, laying her down as softly as possible. For once she didn't evoke the usual violence in him, only a quiet sadness that he couldn't quite understand. For once he didn't want to beat her or hate her. For once he just wanted to fix her.

So he started with her bruised and bleeding hands. She was so tired that she didn't stir, even when he pulled shards of glass from her knuckles. Quietly he searched the place for a first aid kit and found it under the kitchen sink. Her hands were small and delicate underneath his as he disinfected and wrapped them. He marveled at how dainty and womanly they were, even though they could cause the damage of a well trained man.

He then set up a chair next to the bed, sitting next to her, waiting for her to awake. Eventually the sun came up and the alarm clock by her bed blinked in little red numbers 9:32 a.m. He couldn't take it anymore and put a hand on her shoulder and began to shake her gently. "Harley..." he whispered, but she didn't move, so he shook her a little more and spoke a little louder, "Harley..!" She mumbled incoherently, and then he screamed her name, impatient as always, "HARLEY!"

"WHAT?" she bolted straight up, turning to look at him. She then realized she didn't know him and screamed out in shock, gripping the blankets around her for comfort. "Shut up! God, despite everything you are still an annoying little twit." he growled out, trying to remember that Harley had no idea who he was.

Harley, on the other hand, was ecstatic and she couldn't figure out why. The man in front of her was like something from a nightmare. Ghoulish white skin, yellowed teeth covered by a scarred, cruelly red smile. His hair was a shock of abnormal green and he looked tall and lanky, and when she looked into his eyes, she felt her heart flutter. He was beautiful.

"Who are you?"

She wasn't afraid, he realized and he gave a wide smile. "Why, Harls, baby doll, I'm your knight and shining armor so to speak." Harley looked at him, clearly still puzzled, "Harls? I'm Hillary. Hillary Quinten." She said, still cringing at the way it rolled off her tongue. The man in front of her just clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Afraid not, ol' girl. You're Harley Quinn, formerly Dr. Harleen Quinzel, infamous henchwench of the brilliant and amazing Joker. That would be me, toots." He explained in glee, naively hoping it would jog her memory.

It didn't though and she was silent. Joker sighed, unhappiness setting in his bones. He looked at her, "You don't remember anything, do you?" he muttered quietly, letting his head sink into his hands, trying to hold back tears while she shook her head no.

He had worked so hard to free her, to make her realize who she really was and those horrendous doctors had not only taken away her true identity, but they took away her original and gave her a completely new one. The poor girl was confused and as he was angry.

She had been his, and they took her from him. He couldn't bare to look at her the way she was, so instead he stood and in a sudden movement, jumped on top of her, allowing his boney fingers to wrap around her small throat. He chanted in his mind that it was for the best. It was better to put the poor girl out of her misery, because she would certainly be miserable without him or without her true self.

And as Joker was squeezing the life out of her, she oddly didn't panic, but instead, her mind jump-started, allowing her to see her actual life. From her primary school days, to her days as a doctor in the Asylum, and to the days when she and Joker had everything and nothing. Her eyes began to tear up from both strangulation and how she had been taken away from her puddin.

Somehow she managed to squeeze out, "Mistah Jay...please..." The Joker had been so shocked that he let go, "What did you say?" he asked in a vicious snarl and she looked up at him. Her blue eyes seemed to stab into his soul and his heart skipped a beat, but his mind begged him to not have hope. "Mistah Jay..." she repeated, eyes welling up with tears.

The Joker didn't really think about what he did next. All he knew is that he was wrapped around Harley, hugging her like a protective stuffed toy, nice fat tears of relief wetting the top of Harley's head as he kept asking her to repeat his name.

So she did, and he kissed her.


End file.
